Codependence
by ratchetblack
Summary: ABANDONED- Wilson's antivampirism serum starts losing its effectiveness, and House is faced with the prospect of living with a vampire. /HouseWilson, Crossover/
1. Prologue

Written for the House/Wilson Fest over at LiveJournal. My prompt was #84: A crossover with My Best Friend Is A Vampire where House finds out Wilson is Jeremy Capello in hiding.

* * *

The chaos began early that day, reflected Wilson, after the fact. Earlier than usual, anyway.

The first thing he did that Monday morning was roll over.

A second after he'd thrown his weight sideways-- in mid-roll, actually-- he panicked and thought "Oh shit. This is where I fall off the couch, bang my nose on the floor, and have House laugh at me for an hour because I'm too dumb to remember I'm sleeping on a couch instead of a bed."

A second later, Wilson rolled right into House's left side, banged his nose against House's cheekbone, and was so pleasantly surprised by the lack of painful falling he'd expected that he settled down into a very relaxed and content bearing, with one arm wrapped around House.

It took the two of them five more seconds to realize what was going on, and only half a second after that to part sharply, stare into each other's eyes, and say, in perfect synchronicity, "What the hell?"

Wilson reflected that perhaps he _had_ been spending far too much time at House's apartment.

There was a long, awkward silence, during which Wilson tried to remember exactly what he'd been dreaming about before he decided to roll over in bed with House, or, barring that, what he'd been doing the night before that had resulted in him _getting_ in bed with House. A quick check under the blankets revealed that yes, they both did have their boxers on, and Wilson's brain caught up with him at that moment and demanded to know what he would have done had they not had on anything at all.

Wilson suddenly found this all very funny, started giggling, and rolled the other way.

This time he did fall off the bed.

Apart from the initial impact, he found the carpet very soft, and was laying there quite comfortably until House rustled a bit on top of the bed and poked his head over the edge to stare down at Wilson. Wilson thought he looked ridiculous with his bedhead and wide, incredulous eyes, and curled up on himself to giggle some more.

"What the hell is wrong with you? What were you doing hugging me in bed? What were you doing _in_ my bed?" demanded House. Wilson thought House's rapid-fire questions sounded a bit too much like those of his own internal voice, and hiccupped once in an attempt to stop laughing. House didn't know, either? Must have sleepwalked, then. Though if that was the case, the question became: why was he sleepwalking, and why into House's bed?

House reached down and grabbed the end of the blanket, which Wilson had pulled off the bed with him when he fell. Wilson obligingly rolled over some more-- rolling was quite fun, he hadn't had a chance to do it since he was little-- and grinned stupidly up at House when the blankets had been recovered to their position on top of the bed and not hanging off its side.

"And stealing my blankets, too," grumbled House, trying to reposition himself comfortably on the bed again, obviously preparing to go back to sleep. Wilson grabbed the side of the bed and attempted to hoist himself back up, and caught a glimpse of the bedside clock on the opposite side of the bed.

Nine-thirty a.m.? He suddenly stopped laughing.

"House!" he shouted, "we're _late_!" And with that, he grabbed a corner of House's blanket and let himself drop back to the floor with a thump, dragging the blanket with him.

House yelped once and made a grab for the blankets as Wilson stole them yet again, missed, and resolved to let Wilson know exactly what he thought of his blanket-stealing once they got to work. Preferably with lots of public humiliation involved, and with a good chance of making the entire hospital staff believe they really _were_ gay. Not that House would care, if it taught this stupid blanket-stealing roommate of his a lesson.

Wilson got to his feet, almost staggered sideways into the bed, and dashed into the living room to find his suitcase and clothes. House tried to ignore the cold air against his bare arms and legs, but couldn't, and finally struggled up and shuffled into the bathroom.

The rest of the morning passed in relative calm, broken only by House mixing up the lunch containers Wilson had prepared the night before-- one vegetarian salad, the other with chicken-- and making a subtly sexual quip about Wilson being a meat-lover when he attempted to switch them back.

Wilson could almost believe that nothing out of the ordinary had happened between them.

However, it was only when Wilson clambered into his car to drive himself and House to work that he remembered, vaguely, why he'd walked half-asleep into House's room to be near him.

The smell of blood.


	2. Relapse

_The smell of blood._

Wilson's knuckles went white against the leather of the steering wheel cover as he realized the full implications of all the symptoms. Sleepwalking, being attracted to the smell of the nearest human, being able to smell House's blood at _all_ from the next room, it all signaled one thing, and for Wilson, that one thing was the one thing he did not want-- _or need_-- to happen right now.

House jabbed him sharply in the side. "Hello, Jeeves? I thought we were already late?"

Wilson twitched and forced his mind away from his worries.

"One more minute never hurt anybody," he said, mimicking House's low, snide grumble, and was rewarded with a vaguely startled look of self-recognition from his friend. "But then again, everybody lies-- maybe the clock does, too," he continued, and snorted when House rolled his eyes. He threw the Volvo into drive, pulled out of his spot by the sidewalk, and sped off towards the hospital.

The drive to work was oddly quiet. House stared intently at Wilson's tense face, wondering why he'd been so giddy earlier and where that happy energy had suddenly gone.

"Somebody burst your happy bubble?" he asked, leaning over.

Wilson didn't seem to hear him. House made an exaggerated frown and pouted.

"It wasn't good for you, was that it?"

House thought the sudden decrease in speed that threw him forward against his seatbelt was a good indication Wilson had heard _that_ one.

"Nothing happened last night," said Wilson quickly, glancing over at House again, an expression of distinct paranoia beginning to set in. "Absolutely nothing."

"Well," said House, smirking, "if you wanna call morning cuddling _nothing_, then I _guess_ nothing happened. What happened to the giggly gay man I woke up to, huh?"

"I'm not ga--" Wilson squinted in annoyance, held onto the steering wheel more tightly than was necessary, and made "I will not sink to House's level" a mantra he resolved to repeat to himself until they got to work in one piece.

When Wilson and House arrived at the hospital, a few minutes later, Wilson left a contemplative House standing alone at the elevator and ran up the stairs instead. It would provoke House into trying to find out what was wrong with him, Wilson knew, but he would just have to deal with the fallout later.

This was more important. It was probably going to change his life forever.

* * *

"Stella Williams speaking, how may I--" Wilson cut her off sharply. 

"Nora." There was a pause on the other end of the line. Wilson glanced nervously at both his office door and the door to the balcony to make sure they were both securely locked.

"Jeremy," said the woman on the line, sounding oddly pleased, "I thought we weren't going to talk on the phone."

"It's James while I'm using a hospital phone," said Wilson tensely. "The dose you sent me yesterday didn't _work_."

A longer pause this time, punctuated by a soft, feminine snort of disbelief. "Didn't work? It's the same serum I've been sending you for near twenty years now. It wasn't any different from the rest of them."

Wilson ran a hand through his hair, voice climbing in nervousness and not a little fear. "I climbed into my roommate's bed last night because the smell of him made me _hungry_. What am I supposed to do after _that_ happens?"

"Bite him, then," came the easy, flippant reply. Wilson wanted to reach a hand through the telephone connection, grab the woman by her ridiculous big hair, and shake some sense into her. "I kid, I kid. I could come by to drop off some blood for you, but I warned you this might happen the day you started this. I told you it would start losing its effect after a few decades."

"I was kinda banking on it being more than _two_ decades," said Wilson quietly. Nora sighed.

"I really couldn't have warned you any more than I did. Most new vampires don't even go for the serum; they just accept their new life-- however long it may take them to come to terms with it-- and adjust. I don't know of many who have used the serum to become human again. The process is too painful, the commitment too long, the price too steep. And the relapse rate is one-hundred-percent."

"I just needed to commit to something," Wilson sighed, standing up behind his desk to stretch his legs. "I was seventeen, a vampire, and just-dumped. Perfect mopey mood. I didn't want any of it anymore, I just wanted to be normal. And when I had a shot at normality..." He sighed. "I took it and didn't look back. I didn't care how long it would last or what would happen. I went on with my life."

"I know," said Nora. "I remember that." There was a bit of silence. "Well, there's no avoiding it now," she said brightly, all business. "Once the serum starts wearing off, there's no going back. You'll be a full vampire again in a matter of days."

"A matter of days?" repeated Wilson, startled. "It took a week last time!"

"You were just plain human then," replied Nora. "Now you're a vampire whose traits have just been kept in check for twenty years. They'll come back to you now faster than they developed when you turned the first time."

"But..."

"I suggest you invest in a new pair of sunglasses."


	3. Suspicion

"Patient exhibits distractibility, paranoia, and mood swings," announced House loudly, banging on Wilson's door with his cane. "And uncharacteristic reclusive tendencies," he added, jiggling the locked handle again.

He'd tried this door once before, earlier this morning, but had found it locked, as it was now. The door on the balcony was also locked, and the blinds were pulled. No luck there, either.

As an aside, shouting at Wilson from outside had only gotten him three nearly identical "are-you-absolutely-_insane_?" looks from his not-quite-awake-yet team, which had been mildly amusing but not really what he'd been going for.

The handle turned sharply underneath House's hand and shot inwards, almost pulling House into the room before he had a chance to let go. He grabbed the doorframe and managed to stop short before he fell over.

"What?" demanded Wilson, looking paler than usual and extremely irked. House stared for a moment in surprise, then recovered quickly.

"Patient is also sleepwalking into his roommate's _bed_," he continued, lowering his voice to a more normal volume, slipping into the room and shutting the door behind him, "and displays a previously hidden liking for _cuddling_." The look on his face was pure mischief, but Wilson was having none of it.

"House, I don't need this right now," said Wilson flatly, glaring. He stood resolutely in the middle of his office with his hands on his hips, a physical barrier against House moving further into his office. His hair was mussed, probably from running his hands through it in nervousness, House noted. _So what's the big deal, already?_ he thought, and idly twirled his cane.

"From the way you went on this morning, I would think you'd needed it for a long time. So, for the differential diagnosis, we have..." House paused for effect, looking off to the side with his lips pursed. "Sudden-onset homosexuality?"

Wilson's mouth twitched into a vaguely amused smile, but he wiped it off hastily and gritted his teeth. "That's not-- House, believe me when I say you do not want to push me any further."

"Classic defensive reaction. Let's throw in a sexual identity crisis to go with that, then," House said, then shrugged. "And why shouldn't I push you? You know I'm just going to bug you until you tell me what's going on." He stepped slowly forward into the office, moving towards one of Wilson's chairs.

"Of course I know," snapped Wilson, eyes flashing in annoyance. "Well, I'm not telling you now, anyway. I need to deal with this, and I'd really appreciate it if you backed off for once in your--" Wilson stopped abruptly when he realized House wasn't moving towards the chair; he was moving towards Wilson. His eyes widened. "What are you doing?"

"You tell me," replied House easily, smirking and closing in on Wilson's personal space, "you started it this morning."

"This morning, I was half-asleep," said Wilson, matching each step of House's slow approach with a backwards step of his own. "It doesn't mean I want anything to do with you _now_."

"Oh, Jimmy. I'm hurt," said House, pouting. "But the point is, you did it _when_ you were half-asleep. Some part of you wanted something from me, and it wasn't part of your conscious thought process."

"So I'm pining after you in such secrecy that even _I_ don't know I'm doing it?"

"Freud would be fascinated."

House had been steadily walking forward the entire time, forcing Wilson backwards into the office. Wilson jumped when he backed into his desk with a thud, and he tried to edge around it.

House brought his cane up in a lightning-fast movement and let it fall sharply on the desk in the direction Wilson had been trying to move.

Wilson was trapped.

"You-- you're not _serious_," Wilson murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. He stared at House's cane blocking him on one side and looked up at House, who was staring back at him with the intensity of a predator cornering his prey.

"Are you going to fill me in on the situation or do I have to use blackmail?" he asked, grinning widely and bringing his face to within an inch of Wilson's.

Wilson tensed as he felt House's breath on his cheek.

He'd never felt so cornered in his _life_.

House noticed, as he leaned in closer, that Wilson's eyes were wide and fearful as he tried vainly to back away into the desk, and that his pupils were dilated further than would be accounted for by the dim light in the office. He was almost close enough to brush his lips against Wilson's cheek when he felt a frighteningly unexpected whirl of motion--

--and suddenly he was sprawled backwards over Wilson's desk, with Wilson pinning him down with unnaturally powerful hands on his shoulders and looming over him, snarling like a rabid dog.

For one petrified moment, House gaped upwards at Wilson's wild countenance, feeling terribly confused and in way, way over his head. The entire present situation merited an emphatic _what the fuck?_ in House's book, because for one, House's vision was actually swimming a little from the force of the impact, and for another, Wilson had _never_ reacted to anything House had ever said or done with so much violence.

House raised his cane to fend off Wilson's insane rage, but Wilson grabbed it with one hand and wrestled it far too easily from his grip, tossing it into the back corner of his office. House sat up halfway, preparing to strike back in self-defense while Wilson was occupied with the cane-- when had Wilson gotten strong enough to overpower him with one hand?-- and then he saw the fangs.

"Jesus," breathed House shakily, because those things had definitely not been gleaming in Wilson's mouth a moment ago and seeing Wilson looking angry enough to bite him-- _literally_-- was not doing wonders for his ego right now. Or his view of the world, for that matter, which was rapidly deserting reality and approaching Twilight Zone territory at a flat-out gallop.

Wilson froze in mid-movement when he heard House speak, his left hand still raised from throwing the cane away and his right clamped painfully on House's shoulder. As House watched, the cornered-animal look melted out of his eyes, leaving only shock and fear, and the fangs retracted in Wilson's mouth. He backed away quickly and sank nervelessly into a chair.

"Are-- are you okay?" asked Wilson, interlacing his fingers and looking impossibly guilty, staring at the floor. The switch from normal to raging to kicked-puppy was more than a little odd to watch, thought House as he sat up with a wince against Wilson's desk.

"I think... we need to talk."


	4. Denial

_"I think... we need to talk."_

"I really, really think we don't," muttered Wilson. He ran a hand over his face and hunched forward in his chair, curling up with his elbows on his knees.

House levered into a standing position against Wilson's desk, casting a wary glance at him.

"Well, I really, really think we _do_," he retorted, glancing around the office in an attempt to locate his cane. He used the desk to support himself as he walked around it to the back corner of the office, and picked up his cane with a bit of an effort. "And I'm older than you, so I win. Besides, I think that as the victim of a domestic spat, I should--"

"Fine," interrupted Wilson, throwing his hands up in surrender and sitting up in his seat. "Fine. I'll talk. I just went a little crazy and slammed you against my desk after you tried to _come on to me_. Nothing unusual about that, no sir."

House turned around and fixed Wilson with a sideways squint. "Y'know, you're being really petty for the guy who just lost control and almost went werewolf over a little tease."

"Not werewolf," said Wilson. "Vampire."

There was a rather disturbing moment during the ensuing silence where Wilson could not only see House's expression freeze in wide-eyed disbelief, but could also very clearly sense House's heart skipping a beat. Not hear it, precisely, not with his ears-- but _sense_ it, as an innate feeling within him.

He tried to remember if his senses had been this sharp the first time he'd been turned.

"You're a vampire?" House finally asked, slowly.

Wilson put his face in his hands, sighed, and nodded.

"A _vampire_," repeated House, even slower than before, making a face like he was trying to figure out how the word tasted and wasn't sure he liked it.

"Yes, House," said Wilson, irritated, without raising his head, "I'm a vampire. I would have thought the fangs were an obvious tip-off."

"Fangs. Of course. That's another thing you'll have to explain to me," said House, edging out from the corner of the office, glancing warily from Wilson to the door and back again. "Did I actually get up this morning or was that giggle-fit you had part of this dream, too?"

"You're not dreaming, House."

"Oh, _really_?" House asked slowly. "Then tell me how you being a vampire works in the real world." His voice was deceptively level, but Wilson could sense that his heart was beating faster and harder than normal. He quashed the overwhelming urge to move closer to that heartbeat-- because he knew what _that_ would lead to-- and squeezed his eyes shut, leaning back in his chair.

"Right," he said, taking a deep breath. "Uh... I can explain." He stared at the floor and racked his brains for a place to start.

"Or maybe it _doesn't_ make sense in the real world, and I really _am_ dreaming," mused House, studying Wilson. "Hell of a dream, though. Wonder what my subconscious is trying to tell me if it had me dreaming about you pinning me to your desk."

"Shut up, House," snapped Wilson. "Okay, here. This is what happened. I was bitten when I was seventeen. For twenty years, I've been taking a serum that suppressed the symptoms and the blood cravings, and--" Wilson stopped and sighed. This was starting to sound ridiculous, even to him. "It must have worn off just this weekend. That's why I climbed into your bed last night, that's why I was on a giggly high, and-- wait, where are you going?"

"Back to my office, where I'll be able to ride out the rest of this acid trip in solitude," House threw back over his shoulder, limping a little heavier than usual on his way to the door. "Y'know those all-revealing speeches that tell the audience exactly what the mysterious man's motives are? They only _really_ work in those cheesy old superhero movies. The ones where the villain has to explain all the steps of his master plan before he fails to kill the heroes." He paused with his hand on the handle and stared at the ceiling. "I knew I shouldn't have let Cameron make the coffee today," he grumbled.

Wilson gaped after him for a moment. "Oh, _now_ who's being petty? You're the one who wanted to talk about it!"

"By telling you I wanted to _talk_ about it," said House, with his hand on the handle, looking back at Wilson, "I assumed we'd be psychoanalyzing your fascinating anger issues or some deep-rooted trauma that makes you lash out like a wild animal when you're cornered. Instead, you're telling me you're a vampire, which doesn't make sense because vampires don't exist--"

Wilson exhaled once, sharply. "Why did I even bother?" he murmured, shaking his head, standing up and glaring at House.

"--and therefore, by proxy, _you_ don't exist," continued House, staring back evenly. "Hence, acid trip. Might be mine. But maybe it's yours."

"That doesn't even make _sense_."

"Did any of it?"

"Oh, that's rich. Denying my reality and substituting your own."

"See? Quotes. Now I _know_ I'm hallucinating."

Wilson wasn't sure what made him do it. The moment after House said those last words, he saw the world flash into red before his eyes, and he leapt forward, seizing House by the biceps and shoving him roughly against the door.

"So I don't exist, do I?" Wilson demanded harshly, pinning House with ease and bringing their faces close together.

House met Wilson's eyes, shocked, mouth slightly open. The shock quickly shuttered into annoyance as House narrowed his eyes and glowered.

"Let me go, Wilson," he said softly, trying and failing to twist his body away from Wilson's unnervingly strong grip. He couldn't get away. "Wilson, let me _go_."

"This is _real_, House," insisted Wilson, voice dropping to a low, menacing hiss, "and you need to accept it."

"Goddamn it, I _know_ it's real!" shouted House, struggling forcefully in an attempt to break away.

Wilson abruptly released his grip on House's arms, moving back a few paces. House slumped against the door and rubbed his arms, trying to massage the feeling back into his hands.

"God," whispered Wilson, expression calmer now. He stepped forward to help, extending a hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--"

"Like hell you didn't," said House, looking up, his betrayed gaze enough to stop Wilson in his tracks. "Talk to me when you feel less like shoving me against the nearest hard surface and having your way with me," he snapped, opening the door and walking out with a huff.

Wilson stood unmoving and silent where House had left him, distracted not by the sound of House's footsteps, but by the sound of House's heartbeat moving further away down the hall. 


	5. Induction

Wilson dejectedly made his way downstairs to the clinic, hoping that dealing with stuffy noses and minor aches would keep his mind off the image of House's betrayed expression floating around in his mind. 

_And as long as nobody's bleeding profusely,_ he thought darkly, _I should be fine._ He put on a polite smile and nodded hello at the clinic desk nurse. Just another doctor reporting for duty. Nothing to see here, folks.

The name on the folder the nurse handed him, however, made him stop short and blink.

"Stella Williams?"

"She was asking for you, specifically," explained the nurse with a shrug. "I was about to page you, but you've got good timing. She's in exam one."

"Oh," said Wilson after a startled moment. _She actually came to visit me?_

His unpleasant mood suddenly lifted a bit. He managed to avoid looking overeager by glancing at the closed exam room door, then concentrating on reading the file. Or pretending to, anyway. _Nora will be able to help,_ he thought hopefully. Entering the exam room quickly, he kept his nose in the folder until the door had clicked shut behind him.

"Dr. Wilson?" asked the dark-haired woman on the examining table. Wilson leaned back against the closed door and glanced up at her.

She hadn't changed much since the last time he'd seen her. She was dressed a bit more conservatively than he remembered, in a black dress suit with a skirt that ended just above her knees, and low black heels. She still had the same pale, perfect skin and the same shapely long legs... but she'd cut and straightened her curly black hair so it fell neatly just past her shoulders, and she'd gone a little easier on the eyeshadow, framing her green eyes with only a light, elegant black outline.

There was also the little detail that Wilson hadn't actually seen her face-to-face since he was a teenager, and that she hadn't aged at all since then.

"Ms. Williams," he said, breaking into a warm smile, "I haven't seen you in a while."

"Isn't that the truth?" she replied, smiling wryly in return. She crossed her legs leisurely once Wilson had pulled the blinds shut. "So... _Jeremy_... how's the alternative lifestyle been treating you?"

"I told you not to call me that," Wilson said, sighing. He put the patient folder on the counter and sat on a tall stool in the corner, after dragging it out so he could sit closer to her. "Nobody's called me that to my face in ages."

"Well, it _is_ your real name. I thought you'd jump at the chance to use it."

"But I've--" Wilson began irritably, but Nora cut him off with a chuckle and a quick wave of her hand.

"That wasn't what I came here to talk about," she said gently, uncrossing her legs so she could put her black leather handbag on her lap. She stuck her hand inside and withdrew a metal thermos. "I thought you might want some."

Wilson stared, hardly daring to hope. "That isn't--"

"What else would it be?" said Nora with a grin. "Fresh from the butcher's and warmed to perfection. You look hungry, anyway. C'mon. Drink."

* * *

House glared at the ceiling in his office, reclining a bit further than was advisably safe in his chair. He'd been sitting at his desk for the past half-hour, running over what Wilson had just revealed to him. 

_"I'm a vampire."_

Now _that_ was just fantastic. Wilson had gone completely off his rocker sometime in the night, and needed immediate psychiatric help. It was either that, or--

Well, no. That couldn't be it. Wilson wasn't crazy.

House had seen the fangs himself.

They hadn't been in Wilson's mouth in the minutes before it happened, while Wilson was trying to shoo him out of his office. Wilson had gritted his teeth in annoyance, House remembered.

_"Sudden onset homosexuality?"_ House had suggested.

_Wilson's mouth twitched into a vaguely amused smile, but he wiped it off hastily and gritted his teeth._

No fangs.

In the minutes after that, House had walked steadily towards Wilson, maneuvering the two of them so that Wilson would be forced to back up against the desk. Wilson had kept his hands in front of him the entire time, in a defensive gesture against House.

There had been no hidden tricks, no sleight of hand to put on any tooth caps. There were no jaw movements to slide on caps held hidden in the mouth. No garbled speech at all before Wilson snapped.

Nothing except a nervous, cornered man one moment and a wild animal the next.

Wilson had fangs.

What the fuck.

_"You're not dreaming, House."_

House sat up far too quickly and had to wait until the dizziness passed before he rushed off to look for Wilson.

* * *

"And so _then_ he went and got himself--" A loud series of thuds on the door interrupted Wilson's humorous recounting of one of House's escapades. Wilson stood up quickly. Nora's smile faded a little as she looked up, and she put a hand on her purse to make sure the empty thermos was hidden. 

"_Wilson!_ Stop seducing your patients!"

"Who's that?" whispered Nora, as Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Only if you stop wanting in!" Wilson shouted back, swinging the door open just as House stopped thumping the door with his cane, narrowly avoiding getting clocked on the head with it.

"As long as you're involved, I might _not_," House replied snappily, with a cheeky grin. "You're hot stuff, you know."

Wilson blinked, taken by surprise. "So... we're good?" he asked hesitantly. He hadn't expected such a _friendly_ response-- friendly for House, anyway-- so soon after the argument.

"For now," House said blithely, "as long as you promise not to shove me against the wall again." Wilson winced as Nora raised an eyebrow at him. House eyed Nora suspiciously as he closed the door. "Now, who's this, and is she vying for the position of Mrs. Wilson number four?"

"House!" hissed Wilson, scandalized.

"Goodness, no," said Nora, who had started snickering knowingly as she watched the two men banter. "I think that position's already been reserved."

The identical way their eyes went wide after that comment sank in made Nora giggle harder. House turned to Wilson with a smirk.

"Oh, she's _good_," he said appreciatively, elbowing Wilson and waggling his eyebrows.

Wilson turned his blindsided expression from Nora to House. "What?" he asked helplessly, flailing a bit. "You two have just met and you're already ganging up on me?"

"Which implies that you knew this woman before today," said House smugly. "She's not a clinic patient, is she?" Wilson caught his slip too late, and huffily shoved his hands in his lab coat pockets.

"She asked to see me," Wilson said defensively, but he was fighting a losing battle. "And why are _you_ so happy, anyway?"

"Because while _you've_ been shirking clinic duty to have Happy Hour with Miss Tall-Dark-and-Sexy here," House said, gesturing at Nora, "I've been-- wait." House stopped and squinted at Nora again. "Have you been drinking?" he asked her.

"Yes?" said Nora.

"No!" exclaimed Wilson at the same time.

Nora glanced calculatingly at House as Wilson sighed and covered his face with a hand. House stepped backwards and sat in the stool Wilson had vacated, then grinned, made himself comfortable, and started twirling his cane.

"This oughta be good."


	6. Conversation

_"This oughta be good."_

There was a long, uncomfortable silence... well, uncomfortable for Wilson, anyway, who gaped at House, fidgeted with his tie and labcoat, and glanced sideways at Nora, whose smirk was eerily reminiscent of the one he'd seen on House not five seconds ago.

"I _knew_ the two of you should never have met," he grumbled, rubbing his eyebrows in an attempt to make his head feel better.

"You could always start telling the story from the beginning," prompted House, tapping his cane on the floor. "That usually works pretty well."

Wilson sighed heavily and looked to Nora for help, but she only shrugged. "He may as well know the whole truth. I figure it'd be pretty hard to explain the blood in the refrigerator anyway."

"Wait. You knew that we--" began House, gesturing between himself and Wilson.

"You don't exactly make it a big secret, with the way you act with each other," scoffed Nora. "And on top of that, you smell of each other, too. How long have you been together and why did _Jimmy_--" here Nora reached a foot out to prod Wilson with her toe-- "never tell me?"

"But we're _not_--" protested Wilson, stepping sideways.

House reached over and poked him in the stomach with his cane. "Hey, you can reaffirm your sexuality _after_ you tell me what's going on. C'mon, or we'll be here all day."

Wilson oofed and tried to protect himself with his hands, quickly moving out of range of further poking by backing against the wall. "Well," he began, with a note of sarcasm in his voice, "I think it started with this dream, where I was in a tuba-- which was interesting because I don't play any musical instruments--"

"Oh, no, is this some kind of extended metaphor for birth? When I said 'beginning,' I didn't mean _the_ beginning, really, I just--"

"House, shut up. There really was a tuba."

"Oh," said House, and looked vaguely confused. Wilson scrubbed at his face again in exasperation, and was about to begin again when Cuddy walked in and accidentally hid him behind the door.

"House--"

"But Mommy, I just got here!" whined House, pouting.

"I paged you ten minutes ago," hissed Cuddy from the doorway, waving a folder in annoyance. "Leave it to you to be the only doctor at this hospital who never does clinic duty when he's supposed to, but hangs around anyway when he isn't."

Wilson peeked around the edge of the door.

"Uh... Miss Williams, I think that wraps it up for your examination today," he said hurriedly, startling Cuddy. Nora took this as her cue to leave.

"Thank you, Dr. Wilson, you've been a big help," she said brightly, walking briskly out of the exam room and throwing a wink to House over her shoulder.

Cuddy stared at Wilson after Nora left. "You-- oh, geez, I'm sorry, I didn't see you when I walked in."

"Well," replied Wilson flatly, "since it's such a nice spot, I think I'll stay here until you escort House out of the room."

* * *

Wilson flopped into his desk chair with a gigantic moan of frustration.

"He's not exactly what I would call a great catch," came Nora's amused voice from the corner of the office. Wilson sighed and rubbed his eyes. If he'd still been human, he wouldn't have realized she was in the room until she'd spoken aloud. As it was, he'd chosen to ignore the little shadow beside his bookcase and pretend everything was still normal.

He didn't want to know she was there.

He didn't want to be _able_ to know she was there.

"We're not together like that," he muttered.

"Really? The way you act together, I would've guessed--"

"No. I've heard it before. The nurses gossip. We've never done anything like that."

"Pity. You two have great chemistry. You can't tell me you've never been interested in the entire time you've known each other-- and I'm guessing that's a good number of years."

"Yeah," said Wilson absently, flipping through the papers on his desk in a vain attempt to concentrate on something else.

"Is that a 'yeah' meaning 'yeah, I've been interested'?"

"Yeah, we've known each other a good few years," clarified Wilson, rolling his eyes.

"It really shows, you know-- when you talk to each other," remarked Nora. Wilson heard her step quietly from her corner and lean against the wall. Her tone turned mildly teasing. "And you can't tell me he's never been interested either, since you're so dishy."

Wilson looked up and cast a disbelieving look at her. "No one ever says 'dishy' anymore," he said.

"Well, _I_ do," sniffed Nora. "And don't change the subject."

"I'm not changing the subject. I just..." Wilson exhaled sharply. "Well, what am I supposed to do? I'm living with this guy and I don't really know what I'm doing outside of work. I wasn't expecting this."

"Oh, don't give me that. That goes for a lot of crap that happens in life."

"I know _that_," said Wilson wryly, "but I'm afraid I'm gonna bite him in my sleep or something. I really don't think the world could take House as a vampire."

* * *

House about had a heart attack when he walked into his office and felt Nora tap him on the back of his shoulder before he'd taken two steps into the room. He dropped the folder Cuddy had given him, almost fell over, and finally fetched up against his desk, staring at the intruder.

"How'd you get in here?" he demanded, glancing back at the hallway to make sure no one was watching-- although what anyone would be watching him in his office for, he had no idea. _How did I not see her there?_

"The balcony," said Nora, smiling. "Do you visit him often?"

"Only to annoy and extort," he replied, crouching down carefully to retrieve his folder. "Though if he starts acting anything like you do, I'll have to remember to make sure he isn't sneaking around or hanging from the ceiling. Or something weird like that."

"He's going to be a little out of character anyway."

House straightened up slowly and eyed Nora warily. "How out of character?"

"I don't know," said Nora.

House wondered if he should be alarmed at that.

"You see, when a human is bitten," she continued, "the changes that occur when he or she turns into a vampire always progress in a certain order, and over a time period of about a week. Paler skin, sensitivity to light, daytime fatigue, aversion to garlic, whatever. The fangs always appear last--"

"But," interrupted House, holding up a finger, "he has fangs now, and according to him, the stuff stopped working one or two days ago. Obviously, you're not describing Wilson's current situation."

"That's what I was afraid of," said Nora evenly, leaning back against the counter. "I've been providing him with the serum he's used to stay human for all these years, and it's worked exactly as it should have. Unfortunately, so few vampires have used it successfully, in recent times, that the final outcome-- complete relapse-- hasn't been properly documented. Beyond the ultimate result of him turning into a full vampire again... I have no idea what's going to happen to him."


	7. Sensation

_"Beyond the ultimate result of him turning into a full vampire again... I have no idea what's going to happen to him."_

House raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips. "No idea whatsoever? Not even a vague one?"

"Not really, no," said Nora, shrugging. There was an uncomfortable pause that made House fidget and tap his cane on the carpeted floor.

"So," he declared, levering himself off his desk, "we'll just have to figure it out." And with that, he stomped out of the office.

* * *

Wilson briefly stuck out his tongue to wet his lips, then shook his head to drive away the tedium-induced haze in his brain.

Paperwork was always a lot of fun.

He put his signature on one last folder, shut it, and inserted it into its proper place in his neat, alphabetized stack. He slumped backwards in his seat. It was always nice to get things done, he thought, if only for an hour or so before another cartload of work was dumped on your head.

He checked his desktop clock. Not even one o'clock yet-- and so far this morning, he'd rediscovered his latent vampirism, physically threatened his best friend, reacquainted himself with an old friend, and _introduced his friends to each other_ (which may well have been the worst possible thing he could have done for himself at this point). On top of all that, he'd given himself a gigantic headache by compounding his normal work-related stresses with his worries about _today's_ events.

All considered, quite a productive day.

Wilson sighed heavily and rubbed his temples, trying to assuage the pounding behind his eyes. Somewhere deep inside his brain, he could feel his pulse throbbing. He took a deep breath and attempted to relax, leaning completely against the back of his chair and letting all the tension of the day ebb out of him.

A moment later, his eyes shot open as he became aware of a second pulse-- his own.

The pulse he had been listening to belonged to someone else.

He sat silently, listening with wide eyes, hands on his temples again. The foreign heartbeat was drawing closer, moving down the hallway outside his office.

Wilson jumped up, startled. As far as he could remember, he'd never been able to sense heartbeats... so clearly. Now he distinctly heard one, coming closer, stopping in front of his door to--

_This is kind of creepy_, decided Wilson, and sprang forward to yank the door open in a hopeless attempt to prove to his addled brain that it was just an auditory hallucination, nothing new or unique developing in his increasingly vampiric range of senses and _oh, good grief, whose is that perfume I'm smelling now?_

Cameron, hand outstretched to knock, leapt backwards with a squeak, eyes wide in abrupt terror upon seeing Wilson's pale face suddenly materialize not three inches in front of hers.

"Dr. Wilson!" she exclaimed, and her grip on her folder faltered, letting a few papers slide out of it to flutter, ignored, to the floor.

_And her heartbeat, steady and even just a moment before, had shot to hammering in the space of an instant--_

Wilson gagged unexpectedly as he realized he'd almost started salivating at the sight of Cameron's pulse in her neck-- he'd never have noticed it as a human, but she was wearing a round-collared shirt underneath her labcoat and her neck was exposed and Wilson, for one unguarded moment, had lost himself in the sight of the artery beneath her skin--

Wilson slammed the door shut, horrified with himself.

Cameron, completely bewildered and still frightened, bent down slowly to retrieve the pages from the floor and decided that now had probably been a really bad time to ask Dr. Wilson for a consult.

* * *

House, en route from his office to Wilson's for a "consult" (exactly like Cameron's consult, except for the fact that his was an alibi and hers hadn't been), intercepted her in the middle of the hall as she attempted to straighten the papers in her hand.

"What's the hurry?" he called, stopping to examine his fellow as she gave up on walking and fumbling at the same time and simply clutched the whole stack to her chest.

"Do you know what's wrong with Wilson?" she asked, brow furrowed. "I just went to ask him for a consult and he ended up slamming the door in my face."

"... He slammed the door? On you?" House put on a mocking, wide-eyed expression. "Impossible! You're much too cute to abuse like that! And of course, Wilson is too much of a saint to be so rude to a little girl--"

"House, he looked really anxious," said Cameron flatly, switching from concerned to annoyed. "Would you stop making fun of me because I'm the only fema--"

"Well, of course," retorted House snidely. "It usually takes some kind of crisis for Mister Goody McCancerBoy to break character so drastically."

And then he strode off with a lurch, taking an odd sort of pleasure in feeling the heat of Cameron's glare at his back. Hearing her shoes clop sharply away behind him was the icing on the cake.

* * *

Wilson, who was panicking very quietly inside his office, sensed House's approach well before he heard his footsteps. He leapt to the door to lock it-- wow, he really covered a lot of distance with one jump there, that was definitely new-- so that House couldn't enter.

Then he hesitated. House was about twenty feet from the door now, and closing in quickly. He didn't _really_ want House to stay out. As bizarre as the situation had gotten, Wilson wanted company, and right now, the only other person in the hospital who was aware of what he was going through was House.

So he unlocked the door.

_No, no. Bad idea._ He stood at the door, trying vainly to make his brain work faster. His panic was interfering with his ability to think clearly and quickly. _The last time he'd let House in, he'd almost--_

House was standing outside the door, but he hadn't knocked yet. Wilson rested his forehead against the inside of the door, eyes closed, listening to House's slow, even heartbeat.

As House raised his hand to knock-- Wilson couldn't see him, but he could sort of feel him through the door-- Wilson turned the handle and opened the door slightly, staring out intensely through the crack and locking eyes with House's startled gaze.

"Uh?" was all House could manage, looking completely thrown off his beat with his left hand still raised to knock.

_Come in._

House walked through the door before he realized Wilson hadn't spoken a word.


	8. Tension

_House walked through the door before he realized Wilson hadn't spoken a word._

There was an awkward silence as Wilson shut the door and leaned heavily against it, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. House gaped for a moment, then shook his head very hard to clear out the fuzzy feeling that had suddenly eaten his brain when Wilson had done that- whatever. That mind-meld thing.

"What was _that_?" said House, going a bit cross-eyed.

"Please don't ask me questions right now," muttered Wilson, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.

"Well, do I just stand here until you offer me an explanation, or do I pry it out of you with threats of exposure?" demanded House. He tapped his cane on the ground, making it clear he was irritated. "I'm pretty sure your precious bald children would love the idea of having Nosferatu for a doctor."

"House-" began Wilson.

"Speaking of which, Bride of Dracula just dropped by for a visit in my office," continued House, interrupting Wilson's complaint. "She mentioned you might be feeling a little off."

Wilson's hands dropped to his sides and he managed a weak laugh. House was suddenly unnerved to see that his fangs were down again, gleaming slightly in the dim light- _the light was never this dim in Wilson's office_- when he drew back his lips in an attempt to smile.

"Somehow I don't believe she was anyone's bride, in this life or the last," said Wilson, gazing blankly at the floor.

Another silence stretched between them.

"You focused on the wrong part of my statement," said House, staring intently at his friend. "You. Feeling off."

Wilson blinked and looked up. "_You_ try finding out that you're turning into a vampire," he said, petulant. "Again," he added as an afterthought, in a grumble more to himself than to House, shuffling over to the nearest chair and slumping down in it, looking very despondent.

"Obvious things aside," said House, eager to break up the self-pitying mood to which Wilson was spiraling dangerously close. "Any urges to bite innocent virgin women and suck their blood?"

"House, just leave it alone," said Wilson, putting his face in his hands.

"Preference for black clothing and dramatic capes?"

"Really, now-"

"Sudden desire to poof into a bat and fly around scaring people?"

"Don't be _ridiculous_," Wilson snapped irritably, jerking his head up to look at House. Instead of frowning, his expression twisted into a snarl that drew his lips back and exposed his fangs.

_Miscalculation there. Big, big miscalculation._ House stepped backwards, eyes wide. "Uh. You might not want to take things too seriously for a while, with that kind of attitude."

"Not at all," Wilson murmured, his voice sliding into something low and dangerous as his eyes bored into House's. His teeth were gritted again, fangs very visible, and House suddenly felt the impact of Wilson's office wall against his back. He hadn't even been aware that he'd been backing away. Wilson started to rise from his chair in a vaguely menacing fashion, his voice gaining strength. "I'm not taking this seriously at _all_, House."

House scooted nervously sideways along the wall, not eager to spend more time with this newly frightening version of Wilson. He was reaching for the door handle-

"Wait, don't go," said Wilson, standing up halfway and holding a hand out, reaching towards him. "Sorry, I didn't mean- sorry." Whatever black mood he'd been in just a moment before had completely disappeared. Wilson wobbled a bit on his feet, his eyes unfocused and his previous intensity entirely lost. "I don't know what just happened. I didn't mean to be like that."

"... _Right_." And House hadn't been fearing for his life, either.

"I think I'm disoriented," remarked Wilson idly, attempting to sit back down and succeeding more in falling backwards than sitting. "Possibly delirious."

"Hey, _I'm_ the diagnostic physician here. You go ahead and stick to your little radioactive bald people," House said defensively.

Wilson, staring off at some point on the wall, flexed his jaw experimentally. He ran his tongue over his fangs in an exploratory manner, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"When did I get those..." he murmured, almost dreamily, sinking back into his chair.

"Wilson?" asked House, walking only a little closer. He poked the side of his friend's leg with his cane. "Don't mess with me, Wilson. What's wrong with you?" His voice came out a little harsher than he'd intended, strained with apprehension.

Wilson made no response. His entire body went slack, eyes drifting closed. He'd gone really pale since this morning...

"Shit," spat House vehemently. He put a hand on Wilson's wrist, trying to feel for a pulse. He couldn't find it easily there, so he reached for Wilson's neck, hoping he could feel it in his carotid artery-

-wait, why was he suddenly sitting in Wilson's lap?

"Shit!" shouted House again, eyes widening upon realizing Wilson had woken up just enough to make eye contact, eyes half-lidded in a lazy smirk. He'd pulled House down on the chair with him, resulting in House sitting sideways across Wilson's lap rather girlishly, with Wilson's arms wrapped languidly around him. The real kicker was that House hadn't noticed a thing, thanks to Wilson's subtle manipulation. "Get out of my head!"

"No, thanks," Wilson purred (_purred?_ House's brain reeled), bringing their faces close together. "I kinda like it."

"Um," managed House, totally unable to tear his eyes away from Wilson's. "Stop, wait-" Sitting like this was awkward beyond belief; since House was the taller of the two, his legs tangled with Wilson's and his cane had somehow lodged between House's side and Wilson's chest, though for all Wilson was doing anything about it, it might as well not have been there at all.

"Cat got your tongue?" said Wilson, smiling slowly, mouth almost touching House's.

"N-no. What? What cat?" House tried to back away, but Wilson was holding him too close and he couldn't get leverage with his bad leg stuck at this angle and he most certainly did _not_ just squeak. "Wait. Wait, wait- Wilson, don't do this, you're really out of it right now. I'm gonna give you hell about this, you know that, right? Cuddy's gonna know and the board's gonna know and they're all gonna wonder-"

"Not your best threat, House," said Wilson wryly, letting his nose touch House's cheek- _is he _nuzzling_ me?_- and still smiling. "You'd implicate yourself with that one."

"..." House couldn't move.

"Mine," whispered Wilson, warm eyes dancing laughingly, and claimed his mouth in a fanged kiss.

* * *

**A/N:** I won't be continuing this story. I started writing _Codependence_ as an exercise in weirdness, really, and I never came up with a proper plot or conclusion for it. It's been several years since I last wrote anything in this little universe, and quite frankly, I've lost all interest in it. I'm sorry to disappoint the readers who were looking forward to more.

**Thank you to all the enthusiastic reviewers both here on and on my LJ; you've been wonderful and your positive response has been amazing.**


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